


I'll See You Around

by PyrrhaIphis



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: M/M, The infamous foul mouth of Curt Wild, Vignette, immediately post-movie, one really crass metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyrrhaIphis/pseuds/PyrrhaIphis
Summary: Curt is waiting for the subway after the Tommy Stone concert, still depressed and dejected.  Maybe he needs some company to cheer him up...
("Mature" may have been too strong a rating; but Curt *does* swear a lot...his language alone would get it an "R" if it was a movie....)





	

            Of course, Curt had just missed his train.  How else would this day have ended but with him standing around the subway platform waiting for fucking ever until the next train came in?  There were a fair number of other people waiting on the platform for other trains; he didn’t even get to be as alone as he felt.

            That just figured.

            How else would it go?

            He pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his back pocket, put it between his lips and fished his lighter out of his front pocket.  As he tried to light the cigarette, a woman nearby started glaring at him, pulling her tow-headed little child away from him.

            Fuck.

            Glumly, he put the lighter back in his pocket, and shoved the cigarette back into the pack.

            Most days, he’d have lit up anyway.  Well, maybe not with the kid there.  But normally he didn’t stand for people giving him a hard time about anything.  Especially not something completely common and normal like smoking.

            But today he didn’t have the strength to fight back.

            He just wanted to go home and drink himself into a coma.  Or at least drink enough to wipe out all his memories of having ever known Brian Slade.  Though the coma would probably come first.

            “Oh!  Curt…”

            At the sound of his name, Curt glanced over at the speaker.  It was that reporter from the bar.  What had he said he name was on the phone?  Arthur something?  What was he doing here?  Surely he hadn’t followed Curt?

            “Are you waitin’ for the train, too?” Arthur asked.  Right.  How else was he going to leave the concert?  Guy that dressed that badly couldn’t afford a car, or even a taxi.

            “Yeah.”

            Apparently taking that minimal response as an invitation, Arthur walked up closer to Curt, giving him a chance to really look at the guy.  He was tall enough that it made Curt feel a little inadequate.  The black leather jacket was the only decent thing he was wearing, apart from Brian’s pin, which he was already wearing on that hideous navy shirt.  Looked like it was still sticky from the beer.  His wavy brown hair was super short at the back and sides, and the longer part on top was gelled back.  Looked fucking awful.  Too bad about that:  his face was quite cute.  Maybe he didn’t know how good-looking he was, if he was willing to abuse his face by surrounding it with such a crappy hairstyle and outfit.

            After an uncomfortably prolonged silence, Arthur started making awkward small talk.  At least, Curt thought that was what he was doing:  with all those ‘um’s and ‘uh’s in there, it was hard to be sure.  No, not just small talk.  He was, as a Brit like him might put it, chatting Curt up.  Or trying to, anyway.

            Under normal circumstances, Curt wouldn’t have minded.  He didn’t usually like being the one to get picked up, but as long as the other guy was really nervous about it, it wasn’t _too_ much of a thing.

            But these _weren’t_ normal circumstances.

            Not satisfied with having ripped Curt’s heart out ten years ago, Brian had just taken a huge dump in the hole he had left behind.  How the fuck was Curt supposed to get up any interest in _anything_ right now?

            This just wasn’t the right time for someone to be flirting with him.

            He had hoped that Arthur would get the hint back in the bar.  That was the whole reason Curt had given him the pin:  he’d wanted to say ‘yeah, I’m interested, but not today.’  Maybe that hadn’t been clear enough?

            After a few more minutes of yammering and stammering, Arthur suddenly stopped, and frowned slightly.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “You, um, don’t want me to be talkin’ to you, do you?”

            “I’ve had a pretty shitty day,” Curt said, trying to smile.  He didn’t want to drive the guy away altogether.  It was hard for him to meet good-looking guys who were interested in other guys these days.  Curt’s career was still just alive enough that he couldn’t go out to gay bars when he wanted to hook up with a man, after all.  The tabloids would have a field day with it.  “Maybe some other time,” he added.

            Arthur nodded, but he looked like he was going to start crying.  Shit.  He wasn’t one of those super-emotional types who bought into the stereotype that gay men should act like girls, was he?

            The reporter moved away a bit, and took a small notebook out of his purse—or whatever he called that leather bag he was wearing.  After looking at it blankly for a moment, he tore a small piece of paper out, and started writing on it.  Though Curt was curious as to what he was doing, he felt like he really shouldn’t stand there and just _watch_.  He should respect the guy’s privacy, right?

            Besides, there were a lot of people around.  Had any of them realized what kind of conversation had just passed between the two of them?

            Curt glanced at the other people nonchalantly.  They didn’t seem to be paying any attention to anyone but themselves.  Well, that was normal in New York.  That was, after all, part of what Curt liked about the place.

            Soon, the air was filled with the rumbling of an arriving subway train, but it wasn’t Curt’s, so it didn’t do much for his mood.

            “That’s my train,” Arthur commented, drawing Curt’s attention.  Then, quite suddenly, he took hold of one of Curt’s hands in both of his own, shaking it.  The gesture was also pressing something small and rectangular into the palm of Curt’s hand.  “I just—it’s been a real thrill, meetin’ you again,” he said, then let go and headed for the train.

            “Again?” Curt repeated under his breath.  He didn’t see meeting up five minutes later as an ‘again,’ personally.

            But just at the moment, he was more curious about what Arthur had given him during the handshake.  Opening his hand, he saw a piece of paper, folded over twice.  The thought of a grown man passing notes like a grade school student was certainly amusing, but Curt couldn’t summon up even a small chuckle.

            Inside the outer fold, Curt found a message written in a neat, legible hand.  “June, 1974.  London.  After the Death of Glitter concert.  On the roof, under the stars.”

            What the fuck?

            How in the hell could some New York reporter have found out about _that_?!  And was he planning on blackmailing Curt just because he’d fucked some teenage boy ten years ago?  There wasn’t much the law could do about it, but the press would absolutely crucify him.

            No, no, that couldn’t be it.  The guy had just been _flirting_ with him.  He _couldn’t_ want to blackmail him.  There had to be some other explanation…

            Curt opened the second fold in the paper, in case there was an explanation inside.

            And there was.

            It said “I’ve made my wish.  If you ever feel like granting it, call me.”  Followed by a telephone number, and the name Arthur Stuart.

            “Holy shit…”

            Curt looked up at the train.

            The doors remained open, as the last passengers were still struggling to get on.

            Arthur’s head was just visible over that small sea of humanity.  He was staring at Curt.  The same intense, expressionless stare.

            The memories of that night ten years ago flooded through Curt’s brain, and he took an instinctive step towards the train as he realized the truth.

            Before he could take a second step, the doors slid shut, and the train sped off into the night, leaving Curt behind on the platform.

            He looked back down at the note in his hand.  “What are the fucking odds…?” he murmured, on the edge of laughter.

            Carefully, he folded up the note again, and deposited it safely in his wallet, where it couldn’t get lost.

            As Curt continued to wait for his train, he wondered how long he should wait to call.

            Would an hour be too soon?

            Would two hours be too long?

            After all, he’d already made the boy wait ten years…

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I know it's decidedly anachronistic that anyone would care about Curt lighting up his cigarette in a public place in 1984, but...hey, it enhanced his misery, right? :P


End file.
